


Superfriends

by vulturewomen



Category: The Creatures | Cow Chop RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Toxicity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 18:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16310312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulturewomen/pseuds/vulturewomen
Summary: He watches James watch him. James watches Aleks’ throat, watches the liquid pool in his neck, his Adam’s apple caressing the burn on the way down. Aleks watches James watch him. A familiar game with no house rules. A game with no winners.





	Superfriends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [narzisstische](https://archiveofourown.org/users/narzisstische/gifts).



##  **_Superfriends_ **

* * *

 

 

They wrap.

They clear the table from their chairs, sweeping everything towards the box the cards came in without moving any muscles, bar their fingers. Their eyelids feel heavy, a long day of filming catching up with them after 3 or 6 shots. He supposes that’s what alcohol does.

Brett and Asher leave the table to film the post-roll. Asher has an empty bottle of Beefeater Gin in his hand and is slamming it against the floor of the new set. Brett is yelling at the top of his lungs, reminding Asher how much the sets cost and how, if broken, the repairs would be coming out of his paycheck.

James and Aleks sit at the table, in a post-filming slump like a pair of love-sick birds, wings clipped and reduced to two feet. Aleks has a headache coming on, the ruckus like living in a day care 24/7. So, when James says,

“You want another drink?” Aleks nods, eager like a child on Christmas morning, wanting to open his presents before the night hits dawn.

* * *

 

“Tell me your deepest, darkest secret,” a Hail Mary said across a dark faux-oak table, over a bottle of vodka they’d mixed with soda they’d found in the farthest corners of their kitchen cabinet in the warehouse. It tastes old, and flat, but they aren’t drinking for the carbonation.

They’re alone in the warehouse. Everybody having left hours ago, or what feels like hours. It could’ve been 10 minutes ago, for all Aleks knows.

“Deepest and darkest, huh?”, James says, running a finger across his lips, wet with saliva, “Y’know Brett’s La Croix? The six-pack that mysteriously went missing last week?”, and Aleks nods, grinning from ear to ear, his eyes drowning in mirth.

“You mean the six-pack that he tore the office apart looking for?” Aleks asks, already knowing the answer.

“I drank it,” James said sotto voce, “all six. I only wanted one, initially, but the more I thought about how wound up he’d be, the more I was compelled to have the rest”, he chuckles deep in his chest, remembering the mayhem with a fond smile that sits deep in the corner of his mouth. “It bloated me to high-heaven, and it tastes like absolute shit, but it was worth it for his face”.

And Aleks shakes his head, his lips pursed in faux-annoyance. He can see James grinning in his periphery, his dark eyes alight with something Aleks is too afraid to call adoration.

Alcohol sits behind his eyes, on his brow, and swims. His head feels too heavy for his shoulders, and his eyes sit half-lidded.

“What’s yours?”

“What’s my what?” Aleks' eyes move to James now, and James’ eyes are wide, like a new-born wanting the answers to every question in the world. Like he’s not half full of spirit. Like he hasn’t had a lick to drink, at all. Aleks is the Russian and James has more tolerance. The irony.

“Your darkest secret, idiot”, and the taste of cheap vodka sits high in Aleks’ throat. His tongue licks the back of his teeth as if his brain is stalling his mouth. He slides a clothed arm across the table and reaches for the bottle, his fingers grasping it like the Creation of Adam. He pulls the bottle towards him, aware that he’s probably leaving scratches in its wake, and brings the bottle to his lips. Brett wouldn’t dare take the repairs out of his paycheck.

He watches James watch him. James watches Aleks’ throat, watches the liquid pool in his neck, his Adam’s apple caressing the burn on the way down. Aleks watches James watch him. A familiar game with no house rules. A game with no winners. 

He puts the bottle down on the table and uses his tongue to catch a rogue drip that didn’t quite make it into his mouth. He watches James’ gulp, an action he’s sure wasn’t conscious, and elects to speak. He’s not sure what’s going to come out of his mouth. He knows what he wants to say but what he wants and what he gets are rarely, if ever, the same thing.

Aleks feels tense, his shoulders sitting high up by his ears. He’s white-knuckling the table when he says, “Follow me”, but James doesn’t seem to notice. He stands from his chair, albeit wobbly, and lets Aleks lead the way to the bathroom. Aleks shoulders the door open and leans against it, waiting for James to join him. When the latter has entered the bathroom, he closes the main door. Not that there’s anybody in the office bar them, but he’d like a little privacy.

James looks apprehensive. He’s licking his lips, his mouth wet with spit, and Aleks can’t take it anymore. He lunges, pushing James against the door, and slams their mouths together, his hand bracing the back of James’ head, his fingers tangling in the masses of dark hair. It seems to take a minute for James to catch up, the shock and gravity of the situation making his mind work slower than usual, but Aleks knows that had they both been sober, they’d have sat on this forever, and how could he go to his grave with something this heavy sitting on his chest?

Aleks pulls at James' hair, pressing his buttons, and James groans into Aleks’ mouth, moving his hands down to Aleks' waist to pull their hips together.

James nudges him, gently, towards a stall with his hips, their sensitivities brushing ever so briefly and sending Aleks round the bend. He moves his hand from James' hair to the back of his neck, using the angle to pull James in, not willing to wait for this anymore. He parts them, just for a second, to lock the door. Safety in numbers. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a loose condom and a sachet of lube, hands them to James, and then leans over, pulling his jeans down with the movement. He braces himself on the wall, and clenches in anticipation.

“What, they givin’ these away in Happy Meals or something?” James jokes, gesturing to the lube, but now isn’t the time for joking and Aleks is bordering on feral. Besides, they don't really talk when they're fucking anyway. Aleks prefers to keep it free of mess. The mess of emotion, and feelings. He wants to fuck, that's all.

“The free clinic. Now fuck me, please, before I lose my patience.” And Aleks tries not to bite his tongue clean off when James rubs against Aleks. He breathes deep, trying to relax, and huffs out all his breath in one when James sinks down to the hilt. They both let out long sighs, the warmth and familiarity of James bottoming out something worth remembering. He closes his eyes and maps out every sensation he's feeling. What James feels like inside him. It comes in handy on lonely nights when he can barely bring himself to go to bed alone. The bed is far too cold and he has too much space.

“Fast or slow?” James asks, ragged.

“Fast and hard. This isn’t The Notebook.” He can’t help himself with scathing remarks, but James knocks some sense into him when he pulls out and then drives back in with damaging force. Aleks braces one palm, spread wide, against the stall door, his other hand pumping himself fast with the rhythm of James, and lets himself get pounded into oblivion. He’s starry-eyed at the pace, the sounds of James struggling to keep quiet enough to send him over the edge alone. He clenches his teeth, breathing in quick succession, not daring to be the first one to cum, but this is always a fast affair. Bathroom stalls aren’t really places for long, drawn out romances. 

He digs his chin into his chest, and squeezes his eyes shut. His whole body shudders with pleasure. His legs are shaking with the effort of keeping himself upright, but he won't dare turn around. They don't fuck face to face. Kissing, sure. But Aleks won't look at him when they're fucking. Who knows what'll happen? He's not willing to risk it.

Aleks feels himself lose his grip on reality, and clenches hard, smiling wide and smug when he feels James shudder and tense, pumping without rhythm two or three more times before shooting into the condom. Aleks wishes he could feel the warmth of it. But again, not worth the risk. They aren't boyfriends, and he's not a saint.

Aleks lets himself go, only then, knowing that he’s won, spilling silk over his hand.

James pulls out, slow and gentle, and Aleks sighs at the emptiness, never getting used to it. He wipes his hand on his underwear and then pulls up his jeans, hearing James tie the condom and flush it down the toilet. Not very ecologically friendly but workplaces aren’t really the place to leave used condoms lying around. That's a HR nightmare waiting to happen.

He unlocks the stall, and heads for the sink. It was nice and all, but he likes being clean. He looks up at himself and takes in his reflection. He looks fucked out, just the way he likes it. He swallows hard around the words sitting tight in his throat. 

“I’m going to call an Uber”, and that definitely wasn’t even on the top 5 of things he was planning to say, but self-preservation kicks in and saves him from the cliff he’s about to leap off of, “do you want me to call you one?”, and James looks taken aback, as if he wasn’t expecting that either. His face is flushed from exertion.

“Uh”, he scratches the back of his head, trying to plan ahead with not a brain cell to spare, “no. That’s fine. I’ll drive home”, and Aleks’ fingers stop in their tracks on the keyboard of his numpad.

“Uh, pardon me. What did you just say?”, knowing full well what he heard, “there’s no fucking way you’re driving home, you’ll wrap yourself around a fucking tree in your state”, Aleks fumes. He has an ache in the back of his jaw where he’s been clenching his teeth with tension.

“No, I won’t”, James says, or slurs, all the alcohol seeming to have hit him at once. Regardless, Aleks isn’t hearing the rebuttal anyway, he already has the trilling phone to his ear. “Are you ordering me one?”

“No”, he shakes his head, “We’ll pool”, and James frowns hard enough to nearly close his eyes.

“Wha'? We live forty minutes away from each'ther. How’s tha’ gonna work?”, and like a hurdle race he can’t win, he trips over almost every word. 

“You can just stay at my house”, Aleks says, without an ounce of confidence in his voice. He regrets saying it the minute it comes out of his mouth. Usually this shit stays in the warehouse, but the satisfied look on James’ face makes it sort of worth it.

* * *

 

In what seems like the longest and most silent Uber ride of his life, Aleks watches James inch further and further away from him. They already started out on opposite sides of the car, not one of them daring to sit up front with the driver, who seems averse to conversation, but now it seems like he’s trying to become one with the door. He’s looking a little clammy, in his defence, and Aleks thinks that rather than try to get away from him, James is trying to get closer to the cool exterior of the window. Something he can rest his head against. Aleks doesn’t know if there’s anything he can do to help, but he watches, with horror, his own hand reach over and pat James on the thigh, far against his own will.

“You okay, buddy?” James looks over and Aleks can see he’s having trouble focusing his eyes on one place, his head seemingly spinning. Perhaps James doesn’t have an inner turmoil keeping him somewhat sober, or at least cognisant. But he looks from Aleks’ eyes, to his hand on his thigh, and then back again and smiles wide.

“’M good”, he moves slowly from the crevice he’s created against the car door and looks between the seats and out of the front window. “We nearly there yet? Ne’er been to your ‘ouse”, and the meaningless comment alone is enough to send Aleks reeling, yanking his hand back from its place on James’ warm thigh. This time, it’s him sitting as far from James as possible, avoiding his eye. He can feel James looking in his direction, even if it’s not necessarily at him, but can’t bring himself to return the gaze. James has never been to his house. They’ve been fucking for the past decade, friends for longer and a big move to LA didn’t prompt Aleks to invite his best friend over? What kind of best friend is he? Even if Aleks wants to hurl at the term, that’s what they are.

What is and what should never be isn’t discussed.

“Yeah”, he clears his throat, answering James despite the urge to duck and roll out of the car seeming like a better idea, “we’re about 10 minutes away.” He sends a contrite smile James’ way, “dog will be happy to see you.”

James huffs air out of his nose in what seems to be a laugh, but apparently James can’t be bothered to dignify Aleks with a reply, instead moving his gaze to the street zooming by outside. The atmosphere in the car has dramatically changed, and Aleks feels the weight of it burning against the back of his arms, where his dread usually sits. He certainly doesn’t know how to navigate a situation like this. So, he leaves it. Or tries to.

“I’ll set up the couch when we get home. It’s pretty comfy.”

James laughs then, real dry and cold, and Aleks feels like _now_ is the right time to jump out of the moving car, because this is about to turn ugly. Who cares if the car behind them hits him? That’d be less painful than this.

“The couch, huh?” and he’s pretty good at reading between the lines. The hard set of James’ jaw says as much as he’s not willing to voice. Christ, he won’t even look at Aleks. Aleks swallows around hot panic. James knows. He must know.

“We’re here.” The jolt of the car coming to a harsh stop and the thick Ukrainian accent of the Uber driver saves him briefly from the conversation that’ll be continued when they’re inside. He thanks the driver with a nod in the rear-view mirror and reaches for James to help him out of the car, but he rips his hand back and splays a palm for Aleks to leave him. So, he does. Or tries. He gets out of the car, narrowly avoiding stepping into a puddle, and watches James carefully, not wanting him to trip and crack his skull on the sidewalk. He slides out slowly, tantalisingly slowly, as if he’s trying to wind up Aleks’ sensitive sensibilities, but he doesn’t bite. He waits, in the cold winter air, and grits his teeth. This is his fault, anyway.

He thanks the Uber driver again when he drives off, and then turns into the corner of the street and heads for his front door. He doesn’t hear footsteps behind him and turns to look at James, who’s still standing where he left him.

“You good?” and James doesn’t answer. But he follows Aleks into the house once he’s unlocked the door, and he can’t really ask for much else. A stray dog learning to be loyal.

* * *

 

The first thing Aleks does when they get in is lock the front door. He’d had a burglary scare a couple of weeks ago and wasn’t taking any chances. Not with Mishka being the shittiest guard dog in existence. He’d found her cowering under the bed, where he’d also planned to hide. They’d made an unspoken promise to keep it between the two of them.

The second thing he does is put his keys on the table near the front door. If this argument is going to escalate, he wants to know where potential weapons are, just in case.

The third thing he does is head for the kitchen and pour James a glass of water. He’s in desperate need of sobering up, the current method of standing stock still in the living room staring at the dog on the couch not really doing the trick. He walks to the lounge and extends an arm, with the glass, for James to take but he’s not interested. He loves the silent treatment. Giving and receiving. Really plays into his martyr complex.

“Okay. I’ll leave it on the table.” He leans down and puts the glass on the table with a clink, not bothering with a coaster. Lord knows the table is already so stained with other shit that it’s stupid to worry about a water mark. “I’m gonna go upstairs to get the stuff for the couch.” He stands, and turns to walk up towards the barrelled staircase, but James stops him in his tracks, both physically and mentally.

“Admit it.”

He turns, again, to face him. He’ll probably have whiplash by the end of the night. “Huh?” He feels utterly confused and frankly, thrown through a loop.

“Admit it. Admit that you’re in love with me.” The loop is around his neck now. The fucker even has the gall to look at Aleks’ lips as he says it. He's stood across from Aleks, no more than 4 steps away; mouth open just slightly, and pupils blown so wide his eyes are almost entirely black. He’s shaking like a leaf; his body is thrumming with energy. He shouldn’t have offered the drinks. He should’ve left well enough alone. Isn’t being lifelong friends enough?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And he’s lying through his teeth. His mouth is saying one thing, his body another, because he’s talking a step towards James, despite every evolutionary instinct telling him to run.

"You're lying", James spits, voice venom on his tongue. Aleks is momentarily afraid. He can’t pinpoint why. Perhaps that James has known this entire time. Perhaps he’s known and didn’t want to do anything about it. Perhaps he doesn’t want Aleks.

“I’m not”, Aleks rebuts, voice thick with emotion, the possibility of abandonment making him feel sick.

James huffs, looking to the floor, his voice bordering on disgust. "You won't even fucking admit it to yourself". He looks then, just briefly, only for a second; a quick flick to the front door and Aleks knows what he’s thinking. He’s the smarter man. Aleks would let himself be torn to shreds.

James, the hunter. Aleks, the hunted.

He turns from where he’s standing, and heads towards the door. They both know it’s locked, and they both know that James is too drunk to put the key in the lock successfully to unlock it and leave, but Aleks still moves towards him, left with an anvil in his stomach.

It sits, crushing him.

“Don’t”, He begs. His eyes are glassy, and his voice warbles. He’s trying, so desperately, not to cry.

James turns to look at him, and his eyes are cloudy. Unshed tears sit along his waterline like birds on a telephone line. One piece of thin rubber keeping them from frying alive. “Don’t what?”

Aleks twists his fingers in his hands, like he’s a schoolboy doing Show and Tell for the first time. “Where are you going to go?” and he watches James’ face fall with disappointment. He stands, crestfallen, at the front door, his teeth clenched tight when he replies, “I’ll find somewhere”, his hand reaching for the knob.

“I’m in love with you.”

Three reasons. One, because it stops him from leaving. Two, because it’s true. Three, because the look of utter disbelief on James’ face is one he never wants to see again.

“I’m in love with you, and I don’t want you to leave.”

**Author's Note:**

> I started this 6-ish months ago and it's been sat in my documents, unfinished, for ages. I've had enough of looking at it. So, here it is. A short and sweet one-shot about boys with feelings and no idea what to do with them.
> 
> This is unbeta'd. It's 11pm and therefore my bed time. I'll double and triple check in the morning but until then, sorry for the mistakes.
> 
> I'm over at mightydogfood on Tumblr if you need me.
> 
> Title is Superfriends by ZHU.
> 
> See ya kiddos later!


End file.
